


Extraordinarily Nice, Fastidious and Precise

by Pthithia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, F/M, Getting Together, Internal Monologue, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: Maybe that was why this all seemed to have gone so far out of his reach, far beyond anything he'd ever intended at the start of it. It wasn't meant to get so involved. He didn't mean to start to care. At the beginning, all he'd wanted was...When had it all begun? At the start of summer? No, that was too soon. The end of last school year, perhaps? But by that point they were already...Combeferre was right. Enjolras was not nearly observant enough.





	Extraordinarily Nice, Fastidious and Precise

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't start out as a 5+1 type story but it reads that way. Only minor mentions of blood, injuries and hospitals toward the end. Title taken from the fantastic Queen song "Killer Queen".

****It started seemingly out of nowhere. Or at least it seemed that way to him, creeping in like a fog, so subtle that you don't notice it until suddenly you can't see your own hand in front of your face. Combeferre always said he was never observant enough, and he was lucky to have him there to keep track of everything. Enjolras agreed. Without someone to take note of all the social intricacies and hints around him, he didn't know where he would be.  
  
And how could he have come to this point; confused and alone and wishing desperately that someone had the answer? Nothing had changed, nobody had done anything. What had he done to land himself here?  
  
Maybe that was why this all seemed to have gone so far out of his reach, far beyond anything he'd ever intended at the start of it. It wasn't meant to get so involved. He didn't mean to start to  _care_. At the beginning, all he'd wanted was...  
  
When had it all begun? At the start of summer? No, that was too soon. The end of last school year, perhaps? But by that point they were already...  
  
Combeferre was right. Enjolras was not nearly observant enough.  
  
*  
  
Maybe it began early that year. A wet, rainy, grey morning that had dissolved into a windy and damp afternoon, the promise of a warm evening inside drafting new petitions for their next protest downtown.  
  
It hadn't quite stopped raining yet, Enjolras remembered. It hadn't stopped raining, and so the meeting ran a little late, everyone dawdling slightly to keep out of the cold a few minutes longer. The rain sounded distant and far away, with them all tucked away into the back room of the Musain, where it was warm and brightly lit and nobody was in any hurry to leave to head home. Enjolras had forgotten his umbrella that day, and Combeferre had taken on an extra shift at the hospital...  
  
Yes. That was it. Enjolras had just been contemplating walking back home in the cold and wet with no umbrella when Grantaire walked up to him. He'd been mostly quiet that afternoon, in the back with his sketchbook and a surprising lack of smart comebacks to everything Enjolras said. Frankly, it was a relief to be given just one day off from having to think too hard or argue with anyone; just being allowed to do what he needed to without interruption.  
  
Grantaire had looked at him nervously before starting with, "No umbrella today?"  
  
"I think it's in the car, and Combeferre's at work," Enjolras had answered absentmindedly, stuffing his books into his bags to try and protect them from the rain.  
  
At the time, the ensuing pause didn't seem foreboding, but thinking on it now, Enjolras realized he definitely should have noticed it.  
  
"Why don't you walk home with me? I brought mine, and it'd suck to have to walk all that way in this weather."  
  
Yes. That was probably the moment everything changed, and he hadn't even bothered to take note of it.  
  
Instead, he'd glanced up incredulously and asked "Really?"  
  
"Sure. We can get a coffee and wait out the worst of it before heading out. I know you have a pretty long walk, at least."  
  
"You don't mind? I thought you only lived a few blocks from here."  
  
And yes, of course, the way Grantaire had shuffled his feet and looked away, almost in embarrassment, was obviously a sign that Enjolras completely missed at the time. Really, how thick could he get?  
  
"If you don't want to that's fine-"  
  
"No, no, I- thank you."  
  
Grantaire had looked relieved at the time, but also somehow... not. He'd only nodded, and waited for Enjolras to finish packing up, before leaving with him, even holding the door. He hadn't bothered to look then, but now, Enjolras would bet anything that they had been gifted several confused glances as the unlikely pair walked out into the rain.  
  
All in all, what promised to be a very awkward walk home had morphed into a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. At the coffee shop two blocks over, they sat together to wait out the rain, and in hopes of finding a safe topic that would not lead to a shouting match, they wound up discussing a paper Enjolras had recently written on  _Antigone_  by Jean Anouilh for a classics course he was taking. Grantaire, who, to Enjolras' knowledge, had never finished his college education, was surprisingly knowledgeable on this topic, and had dove into the conversation with such enthusiasm and candor that Enjolras couldn't help but match it, and before they had realized it, two hours had passed together. They'd gone from the paper, to philosophy, to Grantaire's studies in sociology and Enjolras' studies in politics, and...  
  
It had been a very nice way to spend the afternoon. Grantaire, who seemingly neither believed in nor cared about anything, had been so open and intelligent. Somehow, Enjolras had never seemed to notice before how smart and insightful he really was when they weren't hurling insults at each other in the back room of the Cafe Musain.  
  
And at the end of it, when they had finally gotten back to the flat Enjolras shares with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Grantaire had smiled a little and wished him goodbye, and then he was gone.  
  
Thinking back on it now, Enjolras realizes that there had been no need to walk there together. The rain had stopped before they left the coffee shop.  
  
*  
  
Or maybe it had begun at the start of spring. Enjolras, windswept and warm on a day when the temperature finally became too much for his winter coat, had only just gotten to the library where he had agreed to meet Jehan to help write a speech for an upcoming protest at the university when he stumbled into Grantaire, paging through a heavy book of legal terms.  
  
He had seemed almost embarrassed to be caught there and quickly shoved the book back on the shelf, and Enjolras had not even thought to ask why before Grantaire smiled his most charming, devilish smile and greeted him. Enjolras, who knew all too well that that smile meant Grantaire wanted to start an argument, had cautiously said hello and moved to find an empty table before things escalated.  
  
Grantaire, known for his inability to stop while he was ahead, had followed him, chattering mindlessly about the latest meeting wherein they had entered a rather heated discussion about the group's latest plans for their nonprofit work. Enjolras had been irritated at the time, he remembers, but had nonetheless sat down with Grantaire and starting discussing it again and before he new it, he was getting angry, realizing he'd been backed into a corner, and Grantaire had just opened his mouth to undoubtedly deliver his final blow when Jehan showed up, ten minutes late, rambling about how Bossuet had misplaced all the papers they needed for the speech and they had spent half an hour looking for them, and isn't it nice to see Enjolras and Grantaire out together, and he's sorry if he interrupted anything.  
  
Enjolras was about to stop him, but Grantaire had swooped in with that maddening charm and promptly begun chatting with Jehan about writing up new speech material. Jehan had agreed delightedly and the two had drafted up three pages worth of brand-new ideas before Grantaire decided to leave, saying he had promised to meet Bahorel at the gym that afternoon. Enjolras, fuming silently across the table, only nodded and pulled out his own notes while Jehan wished him goodbye.  
  
And Enjolras remembers how he had turned at the last moment, while Grantaire was leaving, and caught his eye. Grantaire had grinned cheekily and winked, and Enjolras had felt even angrier than before.   
  
Jehan had seemed confused at the look on Enjolras' face, and glanced back to see Grantaire exit the library before shrugging and turning back to their work.  
  
The rest of the afternoon Enjolras had spent in an irritated haze, not knowing why, vaguely listening to Jehan talk as he thought up new and separate arguments to greet Grantaire with the next time he saw him.  
  
*  
  
But no, it couldn't have begun then. Enjolras knows it didn't. He knows exactly when.  
  
It must have begun at Courfeyrac's party, late in May. It had been hot that day- no, it was at night, later at night than Enjolras usually cared to be social. Courfeyrac had had the entire group over to celebrate the last day of finals, with alcohol flowing and lively chatter and music and it was fine. Just fine. Enjolras wasn't usually a fan of parties like this, and he much preferred their weekly get-togethers where their work seemed to make some difference in the world. Although that night, he had felt happy at least to see his friends enjoying themselves, carefree for once and not worrying about the next deadline or protest. Just... being. Cosette laughing as Marius stumbled through a joke, Musichetta mixing drinks in the kitchen while Feuilly helped, Combeferre and Joly discussing last night's shift on the accident and emergency ward.  
  
"I didn't know you drank."  
  
Enjolras had glanced up as Grantaire took the spot next to him on the loveseat, where he surveyed the rest of the apartment. He was pleased to see that, while Grantaire did have a dark bottle in his hand, it still seemed to be mostly full.  
  
"I don't, really," he answered, clutching the beer Bahorel had insisted he take earlier, which had hardly two sips gone from it. "And especially not this."  
  
Grantaire smiled. "Right. I guess these parties aren't really your thing either?"  
  
Enjolras had shrugged, looking down at his feet to avoid looking in Grantaire's eyes. "I'm glad everyone is having fun."  
  
"But you want them all to leave so you can go to bed?"  
  
At that, Enjolras looked up, shooting him a quick glare. "I didn't say that."  
  
"You didn't have to." Grantaire took a quick swig before turning back to look at him. "You know, if you're uncomfortable you can just say so. You're not hurting anybody."  
  
Enjolras shrugged again, looking back at his feet. "Fine. So what if I am? There are worse things than spending the night at a party with your friends."  
  
Grantaire had rolled his eyes but mercifully changed the subject. "Any news on that grant application for the non-profit?"  
  
"Not yet. I'm guessing the review boards don't want to move too quickly with us after all our public lobbying, but they can't leave us hanging forever."  
  
"You all put in a good claim and your arguments are solid. There's no reason to be denied." Enjolras remembers being surprised at Grantaire's sudden honesty as he said this.  
  
"I guess. But if we don't get it, I'm not sure what our next move would be."  
  
"Stage a revolt outside the grant review board's office? Track them down and demand justice? I'm pretty handy with spray paint, I could teach you a trick or two."  
  
At that, Enjolras had laughed. Happy, joking Grantaire was a very pleasant person to be around, he was discovering.  
  
And Enjolras remembers having made eye contact with Combeferre across the room at that exact moment, who was giving him a somewhat alarmed look.  
  
Horrifyingly, Enjolras had blushed and looked away, although Grantaire seemed to remain oblivious next to him as he began discussing possible ideas for future posters and pamphlets, which he sometimes designed for the group.  
  
And the evening had passed that way for a while, with Enjolras and Grantaire on the loveseat, just talking about everything and nothing. It was nice. More and more, it seemed, the two of them had been running into each other while going about the city, and more and more they seemed to be spending time together, talking, getting to know each other. Enjolras had never realized just how much there was to Grantaire beneath the cynic on top.  
  
Knowing more about him didn't help at all, he had discovered. Rather, he felt more confused by the man now than he did when he was just a devil's advocate.  
  
The whole evening, Enjolras had been hyper-aware of Combeferre's eyes on him, a constant force added to when suddenly Courfeyrac too began watching them.  
  
Enjolras was such an idiot. Of course they would have been watching him, and now that he knew why, it was too late.  
  
And Enjolras remembers that moment, at nearly midnight, when Grantaire had leaned in close and whispered, "Do you want to get out of here?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's go somewhere. Get some air. You and me."  
  
And perhaps he really did need the air. Or maybe he was bored. Or those two sips of beer really had gotten to him. Or maybe-  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Really?" Grantaire's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Really."  
  
"Wow. Okay. C'mon."  
  
And Enjolras had stood up and followed Grantaire, and as they walked out the door his hand easily slipped into his like it was the easiest thing in the world.  
  
And, even at the time, Enjolras had known that all eyes were on them as they quietly walked out together.  
  
  
Later, much later than was decent, he had come home alone, hair rumpled, deep circles under his eyes. Yes. That was the night when everything changed.  
  
He must be such an idiot.  
  
"It's 2:30 in the morning." Combeferre had been sitting on the couch, Courfeyrac slumped and asleep against him, when Enjolras entered. Some remains of the party still lay strewn about the apartment, darkened except for the flashes of light from the television.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
"Out." Enjolras slipped off his shoes and left them by the door.  
  
"With Grantaire?" Combeferre had an amazing poker face.  
  
Enjolras had hummed in agreement and said nothing more than a "Goodnight," as he walked down the hallway to his dark bedroom.  
  
And laying sleepless for hours, it had dawned on him that something had changed.  
  
*  
  
After that night, things seemed to have gone back to semi-normal. At meetings, Enjolras and Grantaire fought, the group made new plans and had new ideas, had more successful rallies and protests. In late June, their request for the grant was approved, and even Enjolras didn't mind the ensuing celebration.  
  
After each meeting, it had become a habit that after, he and Grantaire would walk together to their favorite coffee shop two blocks over, amicably continuing their debates from the meeting, ideas that seemed newer and fresher to Enjolras with a different person and point of view to pick them apart.  
  
As the afternoon turned to evening and their coffee grew cold, Enjolras would find himself leaning in closer and closer while they talked. But now, instead of being met with that cheeky grin, Grantaire would smile shyly but look away, something akin to worry in his eyes.  
  
That night after Courfeyrac's party still weighed heavily on his mind, and though everything had changed, in other ways it was as though nothing had. At that point, Enjolras wasn't sure if he was still under his blissful ignorance or if awareness was starting to dawn on him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore.  
  
Grantaire was too damn stubborn for his own good.  
  
*  
  
Last night, though. That was when everything had gone wrong; a months-long buildup to one night where he was greeted square in the face by his own ignorance. In hindsight, how he couldn't have seen it coming was shocking.  
  
A late night in writing an opinion essay about the French Revolution. His laptop had been dying, stacks of textbooks and notes scattered on the kitchen table.  
  
Courfeyrac was sleeping down the hall; Combeferre on the night shift at the hospital. Enjolras leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the keyboard as he read over what he had written.  
  
  
A sharp ringtone broke the silence, loud in the kitchen, and Enjolras immediately answered it. Getting calls this late could not be good news, and he didn't want to wake up Courfeyrac.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Enjolras? Oh thank fuck." Bahorel's anxious voice sounded muffled on the other line.  
  
"Bahorel? It's two in the morning, what's wrong?"  
  
"It's- fuck, Enjolras, we were out and they got in a barfight, the guy had more friends than we thought-"  
  
"What? Who got in a fight?" Enjolras jumped up, looking around for his shoes.  
  
"Grantaire and Feuilly and I, Éponine managed to get us out but I think they may need to go to the hospital." Enjolras' blood ran cold. "I'm sorry but you're the only one I could think of who would be awake and has a car."  
  
"I'm on my way now, where are you?"  
  
"A few blocks away from the Corinthe, we didn't want them to find us."  
  
"Don't hang up, I'll be there soon."  
  
With Bahorel's direction it had taken him less than ten minutes to find the group, only speeding slightly, his heart fluttering in his chest when he spotted the four of them sitting near a dark alley on a sidestreet.  
  
He came to a harsh stop, and flung the door open, headlights flooding the street and bringing the bloody and bruised Feuilly and Grantaire into harsh relief against the brick wall. Standing there in his pajamas and glasses, hair a mess and two of his best friends beaten to shreds on the ground, Enjolras became acutely aware of how tired he was, remembering the scant six hours of sleep he'd gotten the night before.  
  
"Guess we should have asked if blood makes you sick," Grantaire croaked.  
  
"Why did you call me and not an ambulance?" he snapped, flinging his first aid kit at Bahorel and kneeling down to asses the damage.  
  
"Shit, forget an ambulance, we thought we were going to be arrested," Éponine snapped back, grabbing a few tissues and holding them to Feuilly's bloody forehead. He had grunted in pain, probably because the rest of his face was badly bruised. "We left before they called the cops, but we could hear the sirens."  
In front of Enjolras, Grantaire was hunched over in a way that told him he had been kicked in the stomach, probably more than once. His face was bleeding too, and it seemed his nose had been broken.  
  
"Get Feuilly in the car while I mop up some of this blood," Enjolras had sighed. Bahorel and Éponine helped him into the backseat while Enjolras stayed kneeling, applying pressure to the worst spots.  
"What is wrong with you?" he had hissed when the others were out of earshot. "You could have been killed."  
  
"I've been worse," Grantaire muttered back, wincing when Enjolras brushed against a scrape on his cheek.  
  
"You scared me to death. What if they had found you? What if I hadn't answered?" Enjolras could feel himself getting angry. "Why don't you ever seem to think before you do stupid things?"  
  
Grantaire had stiffened underneath his touch before pulling away with a groan. "I don't need your help or your pity. I don't owe you anything," he growled. "I have enough problems without obsessing over what you or anyone else  _thinks_  about me."  
  
Enjolras had felt his face grow hot, this time in anger instead of embarrassment. Before he could respond, however, Bahorel had come back to help get Grantaire into the car. Together, they helped him stand and limp over to the passenger seat, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs or stomach.  
  
When Bahorel, Feuilly and Éponine were secured in the backseat, Enjolras climbed back into the car. He had glanced up at Grantaire and muttered "Keep pressure on that spot, you're still bleeding."  
Without looking over, Grantaire grumbled back, "I know how to take care of myself."  
  
Enjolras found himself suddenly at the end of his rope. It was two in the morning, he was tired, worried, and upset, Grantaire was angry with him, they were on the way to the hospital, and everything had been changing too much lately.  
  
"Look," he said harshly. "If you want to be angry with me, that's fine, but if this is how it's going to be then I'd appreciate it if we just dropped the niceties so you can leave me alone and stop breaking my heart just because it's easy."  
  
Enjolras was so angry at the time it didn't even occur to him to be ashamed of how childish he sounded. Grantaire held the tissues to his head and was quiet. In the backseat, no one said a word.  
  
It was a long, silent drive to the hospital.  
  
*  
  
In the A&E waiting room, Bahorel and Éponine had stayed mercifully silent as Enjolras sat, arms crossed and eyes closed, simmering in his anger and waiting for the doctor to finish. Before long, a harried-looking Joly came out to meet them, his green scrubs making him appear sickly under the garish hospital lighting. Enjolras had waited just long enough to hear that Grantaire and Feuilly were okay, and a broken nose was the worst of it all, before deciding to leave. Joly offered to drive them home, as his shift was ending soon, and promised to pass the news on to Combeferre if he could before disappearing back on his ward.  
  
Enjolras hadn't even offered a goodbye to Bahorel or Éponine, and simply left.  
  
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon by the time he got back home.  
  
*  
  
And so here he is. Sitting alone on his bed, too wired and angry to go to sleep, but too tired to think anymore. Everything had gone so wrong, and he isn't even sure when it began in the first place.  
  
So, so wrong.  
  
It's barely seven in the morning before there's a gentle knock at his door. Courfeyrac sticks his head around it, curly hair fluffy and rumpled from sleep.  
  
"Can I come in?" he asks.  
  
Enjolras nods, and slides over to make room for him on the bed. Courfeyrac climbs on, and they sit together in companionable silence, hugging their knees.  
  
"I got a lot of texts from Combeferre and Éponine this morning," he says casually.  
  
Enjolras steels himself for an unpleasant conversation. "Oh?"  
  
"Yeah. I guess things got kinda... crazy last night."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
Courf looks over at him, a slight grin playing on his lips. "You gonna make me drag it out of you word by word? Or should I just read you the lengthy messages I was greeted with today?"  
  
Enjolras sighs. "There's not much to know. They got in a fight and called me to take them to the hospital. I did, and then I came home. End of story."  
  
"Enj, I love you, but you're a fucking liar and you know it." Courfeyrac nudges him with his elbow. "C'mon. I know you and R got into an argument. What's going on? Things have been- weird between you two lately."  
  
Enjolras scoffs. "When are things not weird between us?"  
  
"Touché. But I mean more than usual. Don't play dumb, you know it's true." He smiles. "So?"  
  
"It's... difficult to explain. I don't understand it myself." Enjolras hugs his knees closer to his chest, tucking his chin in.  
  
Courfeyrac slings his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. "Oh, Enj. You poor, naive boy. You like him, don't you?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Grantaire."  
  
Enjolras considers denying it. "Maybe."  
  
Courfeyrac nods, and he doesn't seem to be about to tease or taunt. "So why are you upset with him?"  
  
He thinks about it. "He's difficult. That night after your party... He doesn't trust himself enough."  
  
Courfeyrac nods again but stays quiet this time.  
  
"I should talk to him. Right?" Enjolras asks after a moment.  
  
"Probably. At least smooth things over. And then you both should probably have a conversation about- whatever this is."  
  
Enjolras nods, and leans into Courfeyrac's side, seeking his comfort. Maybe Combeferre isn't the only one who can give good advice.  
  
"But whatever happens, can you promise me something?" he asks.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That you'll be okay. And that you'll talk to someone if you need to."  
  
Enjolras' eyes flutter shut. "Yeah. I promise."  
  
They sit like that for a little while longer, in silence, and Enjolras thinks.  
  
*  
  
It takes another week and another pep talk from Courfeyrac and Combeferre before Enjolras feels ready.  
  
It's the end of another meeting. He's not entirely sure what exactly they discussed today, with Combeferre and Feuilly leading a lot of the discussion. He's felt a little distracted that whole week, in fact.  
  
At the end of the meeting, as the rest of the group bundle up and head into the chilly December air outside, Courfeyrac gives Enjolras a wink and a thumbs-up before following Bossuet and Jehan out.  
  
It takes a few more minutes before its just them in the room. Enjolras nervously hovers by his chair for a moment before crossing over to where Grantaire is in the back, packing away his sketchbooks. At the sound of footsteps, Grantaire looks up. His face has healed nicely, only the bruises left under his eyes from his broken nose. Luckily, he had no broken or fractured ribs, only some bad scrapes and bruises.  
  
"Hey," Enjolras starts, taking a deep breath to steel himself. Can we talk?"  
  
Grantaire glances around at the empty room and nods. "Sure."  
  
It's awkwardly quiet for a moment until Grantaire says, "I'm sorry about the other night. I shouldn't have said that. You were worried about me and you had a good reason to be."  
  
Enjolras feels thrown off for a moment. "What- no, I should be apologizing to you. You were right. I- you don't owe me anything. I know that. And I know I haven't been fair about it."  
  
Grantaire stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground. "Yeah. Well- I guess we were both wrong." He pauses. "It's just- I thought you would be done with me, after that night. Honestly, I thouht you would be done with me that night after Courf's party."  
  
Enjolras blushes to remember that night, that walk through the city, the sound of Grantaire's laughter, a quick kiss followed by a hasty explanation and departure.  
  
"And even if you weren't, I was still hoping I could, y'know. Become better. I spent forever thinking it was a pipe dream and then..." Grantaire trails off.  
  
Enjolras sighs. "You don't have to be better. I kissed you because- I don't know, I like you." Finally, he brings himself to look into Grantaire's eyes. They're surprisingly soft and vulnerable. "Not whoever you think you ought to be. Just you."  
  
"I want to. Don't you think I want to? All this time I should have been trying to distance myself. It was easier when we didn't know each other well."  
  
Enjolras smiles a little. "Yeah. But I'm glad I know you now. And- I think it's only fair you give yourself a chance."  
  
"I'll screw it up. I know I will." Grantaire smiles ruefully. "I always manage to. And even if I don't, I'm not sure how to convince myself that..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"... That you won't get tired of me."  
  
It's quiet.  
  
"If I don't screw up, then the other person always gets fed up with me. It's my curse. And I don't blame them. I mean, look at me." Grantaire gestures to himself, rambling on. "I'm hardly a dream come true."  
  
Enjolras' throat feels tight. He doesn't know what to say.  
  
Grantaire looks at the ground. "It's just easier to not get attached in the first place," he mumbles.  
  
Enjolras can improvise any speech, pull facts from the depths of his mind, go on for ages about his passions. But now? He feels... stuck.  
  
"Relationships don't always last forever," he says at last, thinking carefully. "I know that. And I can't promise that ours will. But I do know this." He looks back at Grantaire's face. "I like you. A lot. More than I've ever liked anyone. And that feeling's only gotten stronger the more I've gotten to know you. I realize that now."  
  
Grantaire sighs, but he doesn't look like he's ready to bolt like last time.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you. And I can't promise that bad things won't happen. But you know me. When I decide on something, I commit til the end. And I'd never abandon you flat."  
  
They're both quiet now. The shaky nerves from before have slipped away, and Enjolras feels more calm, more sure of his words than ever.  
  
Grantaire sighs deeply before meeting Enjolras' gaze. "I need time to think," he says softly. "Can you give me time?"  
  
"All that you need," Enjolras answers.  
  
He nods and smiles slightly, before reaching out to take Enjolras' hand. He gives it a quick squeeze.  
  
"I think we're running late for our coffee date."  
  
Enjolras smiles. "You're right. Should we go?"  
  
Grantaire nods, and they collect their things before stepping out into the cold while discussing Enjolras' philosophy paper, lighthearted and smiling.  
  
As they walk, Grantaire slips his hand into Enjolras'. They both smile at each other and turn the corner, at last on the same page.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (It takes a while but in the end they do give it a try and it works out because I need a happy ending to get through the rest of Barricade Week.)
> 
> Writing again after a 2-year hiatus. Was suffering from "literary impotence" and "I literally cannot anymore" and just life in general, but I got really emotional this Barricade Day and felt the urge to finally write again. I hope I'll be able to do more soon.
> 
> This could not have happened without the unending support and suffering of the lovely narcolepticseamstress on Tumblr who listened to me whine for years before getting me to write already.
> 
> Thank you for reading, it's not my best work but I hope it'll inspire me to come back to some old projects and get involved in the fandom again.


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